


Pandora's Velvet Box

by Xandrad



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Angels, Asexual Character, Asexuality, BDSM, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Non-Binary Character, Confessions, Demisexuality, Demons, Face Slapping, First Time, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Pansexual Character, Restraints, Romance, Spanking, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xandrad/pseuds/Xandrad
Summary: Aziraphale's eyes were drawn more to the other box, a luxurious red velvet covering. He ran his fingers over it and slid the key in. It clicked and Aziraphale gently lifted the lid on Crowley's box, not wanting to disturb the precious contents.Aziraphale stared at what he saw. He stared some more. Further staring. For a solid minute, his brain could not comprehend what he was actually looking at, but it certainly wasn’t a holy dagger.





	Pandora's Velvet Box

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Angels and Demons. 
> 
> Here's links to songs that are featured in this fic.
> 
> *Venus in Furs by The Velvet Underground: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLQzaLr1enE  
> *Chopin - Nocturne op.9 No.2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg  
> *Alexander Scriabin Piano Sonata No. 2, Sonata-Fantasy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhJ6odCdp0M

Outdoors the wind was howling fiercely, rain pelting against the windows. It was the perfect kind of weather for swaddling one’s self in a cosy nook and wandering through a story for a spell. Sipping at his coco, the golden-haired angel poured over  _ The Garden of Eden by Ernest Hemingway.  _ His cheeks flushed as he voyeured over the fictional affairs of three humans, bodies moving together in harmony _. _ A small stack of future reading material sat on Crowley’s coffee table; one of the newer additions Crowley had added to the apartment since Aziraphale began to visit. 

Aziraphale was still getting used to the stark emptiness and stiff furniture of Crowley’s apartment. They had decided, now that they were looking over their shoulders for any sign of Heaven or Hell, it was easier to stick close to watch each other’s backs. He had been digging out favourites from his private collection after all the stress of The Unpocalyse. He was in desperate need of blissful daydreams among the pages of his books. Aziraphale wasn’t precisely sure why, but he had been drawn to more carnal works in the past months. Possibly something about the threat of death, wanting to feel more alive? Yes, that must be it. 

The angel bit his lip as scandalous whispers slithered through his mind. He smirked and chuckled, licking his finger to rush to the next page, his wings trembling to chase the rise of the tale. Aziraphale felt quite warm under the collar, pulling out snippets from the novel, filing them away for-- 

His new phone buzzed loudly,  _ Venus in Furs by The Velvet Underground _ blared out of it. Aziraphale jumped, alarmed by the wretched squeal that tore him from the suspense. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. The ruffian had set up Aziraphale’s new mobile cellular telephone after insisting the angel get one for safety, and most certainly picked that song for himself. 

His wings ruffled as he scrambled to silence it. He composed himself before delicately pressing the big green one on the screen. 

“Hello? Did it work?” He said, still rumbled from the rude awakening of his lurid adventure through ink and paper. 

“Yeah, Bentley is running like a dream. Though you’d be losing feathers if you’d come along in this weather. It is not ‘Tickety-Boo’.” 

“Oh good. I did mean, the mobile cellular telephone, I didn’t hang up on you!” He said excitedly. “This time.” 

Crowley wanted to be warmed by how nearly everything Aziraphale did made him melt. His angel was full of pure joy, the being of light that he was. Right now however he needed Aziraphale to pay attention. 

“That’s grand, angel. Did you like the Bebop I left on there for you?” 

“B..bebop? I didn’t think...Oh, yes, yes, haha, you prankster! You got me.” Aziraphale realised what was happening. 

Crowley felt frozen to the core. Not because of the rain, he enjoyed a good thunderstorm. The Bentley was delightfully toasty, but the cold-hard fear was pervasive. The chill came from his certainty that the Generic Black Van that had been following him for far too long was filled with pissed off ex-coworkers. 

“Good, um, listen - you know how we were talking about that old restaurant last night? The one in Turin.” He tried to hide the lump in his throat. 

Aziraphale was instantly taken back to 1897 in Turin, where he’d devoured perfectly cooked home-made pasta, the ragu the best he’d ever had, stirred for days, constantly fed wine and herbs and love. He remembered they’d picked it as it wasn’t covered from head to toe in crucifixes. His heart tightened. They hadn’t talked about the  _ Porto di Savona _ last night, this was definitely not good. 

“Oh...Oh, why yes!” He forced the joy in his voice to stay strong, “Didn’t we get far too silly on Merlot that evening?” Aziraphale clutched the device hard, listening intently to Crowley’s instructions. 

“Mmm, ya, well I was thinking we should try out that new place we spotted. What was it, something Pillar?” 

_ The Four Pillars _ , Aziraphale nodded, putting together the code. They’d discussed escape routes and hidden locations, building a code via Aziraphale’s favourite restaurants and Crowley’s favourite musicians. 

“Delightful, I’ll make sure to bring the vino and cigars.” Aziraphale’s gaze flicked to the comfortable smile of Mona Lisa. 

“Great. It’s a date. Catch ya.” The line went dead.    
  
Aziraphale took a deep breath. He immediately went about collecting the items necessary. He quickly snatched his personal effects, tucking the book he was in the middle of into a bag. 

Aziraphale approached wall with the ever smiling woman, secrets behind her eyes. He unlocked the safe, noting several items, including two locked boxes. He grabbed them both and put them into his bag before sealing it up. He dashed to Crowley’s houseplants, lifting a smaller one to extract the hidden envelope containing keys. He gave the plant’s leaf a little pat. As quickly as he could, he grabbed an umbrella, threw on a scarf and coat in between finishing his coco and fleeing the scene. 

An instant later, Crowley’s apartment was empty, his houseplant’s lamenting the departure of the kind yellow one.

***   
  


Aziraphale did not in fact head out for a dazzling evening of carbonara and tiramisu. Instead he nipped through an elaborate series of ally-ways, stair wells and lanes they had carefully plotted out which led to their many safe-houses. They’d been busy; working sigils into the bricks and walls, sourcing magic from long lost parchments to hide traces of ethereal and occult beings. 

So far, there had been no obvious threat to their lives. Crowley had been tightly wound. Aziraphale had tried his best to alleviate the demon’s high level of suspicion. He’d managed to help calm him with planning their next moves, but in the past week Crowley had sworn he smelt something off in the air. The poor dear. 

Finally, Aziraphale reached  _ The Four Pillars _ , the disappointingly-not-an-Italian-restaurant, but the fourth safe-house on their list. He dragged himself out of his coat and hung his wet items in the bathroom. He snapped his fingers to prestidigitate himself dry. It had been a huge relief to Aziraphale, that despite their role in averting The Divine Plan That Was Written, their innate magic had not been ripped away. Aziraphale wasn’t completely sure if that meant he had in fact, not upset The Almighty, or if by design his powers were his. After all, why  **did** he ever have to ‘slow down on the miracles’ under the authority of the doom squad? 

From the outside, the place looked a frightful condemned building. They’d done wonders on the inside, making it a suitable getaway, sigils under every strip of wallpaper. 

Crowley wasn’t there yet, Aziraphale worrying for his safety.  _ What if Hell’s agents were near and had realised Crowley was onto them? What if they’d captured him?  _ Aziraphale wrung his shirt sleeves, shaking his head and banishing what if’s. Crowley was cunning, he’d be alright. Instead of standing about fretting, he set the house in order, turning on the heater and fixing some tea. 

Aziraphale tried to distract himself as the kettle boiled, conjuring a gramaphone to sing his cares away, Chopin easing his weary mind. He pulled his bag onto the table and pulling out the contents and set his books to one side. 

“I’ll get back to you later, my dears.” He mumbled before pulling out the boxes. A pair, different in shape and colour. He pulled out the envelope and shook it. Only one key fell to the table. Odd. 

They’d gathered vital weaponry to protect themselves through a series of late night Church-heists and sourcing ancient scrolls of banishment. They’d snaffled some artefacts that were ‘lying around’ in Museum archives - the pointy holy kind. Crowley had let Aziraphale know he’d given their collection to ‘Davinci’s woman’ if they ever needed them. 

The Angel slid the key into the black leather case, but it did not unlock. It was fine, surely he could just miracle it, but his eyes were drawn more to the other box, a luxurious red velvet covering. He ran his fingers over it and slid the key in. It clicked and Aziraphale gently lifted the lid, not wanting to disturb the precious contents. 

Aziraphale stared at what he saw. He stared some more. Further staring. For a solid minute, his brain could not comprehend what he was actually looking at, but it certainly  _ wasn’t  _ a holy dagger. 

Aziraphale’s eyes traced over the items all places neatly in a custom made inlay. Organic and architectural forms made from leather, silicon, faux-fur and glass, all crafted for one purpose - and it wasn’t war. The collection was in pristine condition, akin to a secret agent’s briefcase full of guns. His heart pounded as he reached out instinctively to a black collar, complete with red stitch, scales embossed in the leather. Aziraphale trailed his finger down the coiled silver serpent complete with two glistening topaz gems that hung from the collar. 

The kettle whistled. 

Aziraphale shut the box, substantially whelmed. He grabbed tea and sugar, sliding Crowley’s secret behind the biscuit tin, fighting a fit of nervous laughter as his face turned as crimson as the box. 

A strange wave of déjà vu overcame him, as though he’d opened this box before, many times. His memory was startlingly clear. Opening the box, himself dressed up like dessert, pulling out a pink cat-o-nine-tails and beating bare bottoms bright red. Memories of whispering commands into wanting ears, tightening ropes on shivering limbs and feeling more powerful than he ever had. 

_ That was impossible!  _ He shook his head as he stirred the sugar in; he’s only seen that many items of debauchery in one place when he’d excitedly visited an “Adult Bookstore” that sprang open in Soho in the ‘60’s. Besides, all the items in the red-velvet box were black with hints of red.

Aziraphale felt weak at the knees. He’d never done anything of the sort. There were many occasions where Crowley had pointed out to him that ‘ _ that overly friendly twat was just flirting with you _ ’, and he’d been entirely clueless. He certainly did not get cosy with humans; that was a huge no-no. The whole concept of that-sort-of-thing was only something he interacted with in books, such as the ones littered upon the table. 

Well.  _ Almost _ only books. 

The strange memories that danced in his mind were so vivid, feeling as real as his memories of cuddling up with Crowley, a book and cocos for hours. How Crowley would slowly wrap him up like a Christmas ribbon. As visceral as the times Crowley preened his wings for him, hitting his angelic core and making him feel incredible. Or the few times of late they may have, possibly, just sort of fell into one another, hands meandering under clothes and lips brushing over ears. 

These strange visions however, were far from the realm of any tomfoolery Aziraphale had ever been interested in!

The sound of scuffling from the front door had Aziraphale turn like a deer in headlights. A soggy demon stood in the doorway, peeling out of his wet jacket. 

“Hey, angel? What’s up?” Crowley said flatly, dripping and unhappy about it. 

*** 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale came to his aid, helping him to the heater and using magic to dry him off. Once he was no longer soaked, Aziraphale shooed him into the kitchen for a hot drink. 

“What happened, Crowley?” The angel grabs their drinks and takes a seat by him, nudging the cup closer to Crowley so he can warm up. 

“They kept following me, and I led them to North London before taking the Bentley down an ally that was mysteriously too small for their van.” He took a long sip, grateful to finally start shaking the cold. It had been a long trip on foot to get here. “Didn’t see them through the tinted windows but I could feel hate fuming from that van.” 

“I’m just so glad you’re home safe.” Aziraphale smiled, eyes soft with concern as he reached out and grasped Crowley’s wrist. Crowley slid off his sunglasses and took Aziraphale’s hand, his frozen fingers meeting Aziraphale’s deliciously warm ones. He gave it a squeeze. His yellow orbs held a thin fragile line, the demon looking at Aziraphale with a fear the angel wasn’t used to seeing. 

“Crowley? Whatever is the matter, love?” He rubbed his hands to warm them and comfort him. Crowley felt the weight of Aziraphale’s wings wrap around him, hidden from view but always there. 

“I… You.” Unbeknownst to the angel, Crowley had wrestled with feelings for this perfect being before him from the moment he met him. He didn’t like them. Feelings. He knew wily, and by Heaven they were tricky bastards. Not all feelings, but certainly the ones that flashed within him when Aziraphale was this close. 

“Those bastards, I know it was them, angel. I could feel their eyes piercing the veil. I knew it’d be pointless, but I wanted to tear them apart.” He spat, a viper ready to strike. 

“That’s frightful.” Aziraphale reclined, part of him still frightened yet in awe of Crowley’s intimidating presence. He kept his fingers entwined and his smile bright, “You’re here now, safe and warm. Don’t let it trouble you further, try to-” 

Crowley’s heart was pounding as panic circled his core.  _ What if they’d followed him? What if they got inside?  _

“It’s-- You! It’s you!” He growled, voice still tainted with wrath. 

Aziraphale’s eyes lost their charm, but he clung to Crowley, terrified of what that meant. 

“No, no, that’s wrong, not you. I mean-” His striking eyes softened, not realising how tightly he held Aziraphale’s hand, “You being in trouble. I...I can’t bare it, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s heart broke at seeing the stress winding his demon up. It just wouldn’t do. He had known how much Crowley cared for him for centuries, but the demon never let that stoic mask shatter so openly. He rubbed Crowley’s skin gently as they sat in silence, the angel at a loss for how to help. He shuffled closer to Crowley, wings holding him tighter, running his hand over Crowley’s tense cheek. 

“Darling. We’re safe. I promise you. If there were trouble, our alarm spells would have sounded long ago. We’ve done the very best we can with what we’ve got. And we have one another.” He drew Crowley’s far away stare to meet his calm gaze. 

“Isn’t that worth celebrating?” His eyes sparkled, simply happy that his Crowley was okay. 

The grim picture of misery beside Aziraphale slowly warmed, a long thin smile cracking the tension. He broke into a laugh and grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders. The pair fell into each other laughing, thoroughly relieved their plans had worked out. Crowley shook out his wings, crawling into the familiar comfort of Aziraphale’s hold. Nothing mattered when he was here. It didn’t matter that they weren't curled up surrounded by the scent of old books in the shop, nor the solid cement walls of his apartment. 

“ _You’re_ my home, isn’t that right, angel?” Crowley echoed what his angel had assured him of earlier. 

Aziraphale’s cheeks went rosy, that ear splitting smile adorning his luminous face. “Of course, my dearest Crowley. We’ve barely been apart through the centuries. No matter where we went on our own paths, we always wound up together again. Like celestial bodies circling one another in orbit.” He traced the circles of Crowley’s tattoo, shivering as he met the fine hair of his temple. 

Crowley’s luteous eyes were wide, Aziraphale’s light pouring inside him. It didn’t burn away his shadow, but danced alongside it, pure bliss like he had never experienced with another. 

Aziraphale’s bright eyes lidded, heavy with adoration at the magnificent beauty of God’s creation. It didn’t matter what lines the demons and angels had etched in the sands of time, lines that dictated what it meant to be angelic or demonic; Crowley was made by The Almighty, and he loved him as was intended by Her word. 

Neither of them were sure how long they wandered in one another's souls, occasionally sipping their tea, Chopin’s gentle piano wafting through their hideout. 

“You’re such a clever devil.” Aziraphale murmured He was glad that he’d trusted what appeared to be Crowley losing his mind from paranoia the past months, helping him execute elaborate plans of escape together. 

At that moment, they both thought about exactly the same thing. Almost exactly. 

“The box! Did you bring the vino and cigars?” Crowley grinned fiendishly, chuffed that Aziraphale’s woeful skill in the art of subterfuge was, finally, improving. 

At least, he thought that right up until Aziraphale’s wings stiffened. He stared at Crowley, his face frozen in an uncomfortable smile, not saying anything for far too long. 

“Well? What - no vino? No cigars? Aziraphale, you didn’t-” 

“No, no! I- I-, ah, the boxes- Box! Yes I got the handc- err, Holy dagger! With the weapons and the holy water and scrolls.” He scrambled to hide his fluster as the searing imagery of Crowley in that collar filled his mind-scape. “At least, I truly hope I did.” His brow furrowed, anxious he’d mixed up their code. “I just hadn’t gotten around to opening it up yet.” He pulled the black leather box from beside his books and slid it tenderly over.  _ Oh, Hell, what if this box was full of the same as the other box? _ Aziraphale felt ill. 

Crowley raised a brow. 

“And...the key?” 

_ Oh. Shit. The key. The wrong key. _ The key that was  **not** for this box but in fact for the secret that called out to him from behind the biscuit tin like the Tell Tale heart, his blood thudding in his ears. 

“Ah...About that.I um. Yes, well, we nearly pulled off the whole plan.” Aziraphale bit his lip, smiling nervously. 

“Maybe we ought to keep back up supplies in our getaways from now on, hm, angel?” He teased before he pulled out his key-ring to the Bentley and used a spare for the box he’d had made. Aziraphale stole a look; no key that matched the antique bronze one hidden in his pocket. 

The leather box popped open, revealing their weapons all in tact and safe. 

“Jolly good!” Aziraphale drank his tea loudly. 

Crowley reached into the box and dug out a pale-blue pouch. 

“Close your eyes.” He whispered. 

Aziraphale lowered his tea and gave Crowley a curious glance, before fluttering his eyes closed, trusting Crowley with his life. He felt Crowley reach around his neck and the sharp cold of a chain met his skin. Crowley sat back and Aziraphale peaked at him. Crowley gestured it was okay and Aziraphale looked down at the surprise. Off a fine chain hung a charm; intricately woven strings of white-gold forming a pair of wings. A thin circle of metal surrounded them, a protection blessing etched expertly along it.

“Oh! Oh, Crowley. My dear Crowley, this is exquisite.” His eyes shone, wings bristling with joy. 

“Turn it over, hm?” Crowley wagged his finger lazily in the air. 

“ _ Angel. May our stars never fade. Yours, A J C _ .” Aziraphale read out the shorthand Enochian symbols, hardly able to believe the words. He gazed at Crowley with burgeoning fondness. “This is the nicest gift anyone has given me.” 

“Ah, it was a twofer, I got them made by an occult alchemist down in Cornwall. Always dashing work.” He waved it off as nothing. 

“No. Crowley. I mean it, you are truly kinder to me than all the angels of Heaven ever were.” His cheeks crinkle his eyes, lashes damp with gratitude. 

“Forget it, just a good deal.” Crowley’s feathers bristled, still tetchy from centuries of batting off Aziraphale’s fawning praise. 

Aziraphale’s face flushed, reminded of Crowley throwing him against the wall when he’d dared called him nice in the Ex-Nunnery. 

“Crowley.” Something in Aziraphale’s tone shifted, low and stern. “You’re a good being to me.” 

Crowley practically vibrated out of his chair, ready to stomp off for a bottle of wine, away from such nonsense until he felt a steely grip hold him in place. He flicked a hiss at Aziraphale, not used to the angel ever being firm with him. 

It happened fast. Aziraphale was standing over Crowley, wrist pinned to the table, a firey gaze holding the demon in place. Aziraphale grabbed his chin and leaned in close, breath dancing over his ear. 

“You better be a good lad. Or else.” 

Crowley’s brain temporarily beamed to another galaxy. His body flushed from head to toe. 

“Now stay right there and close your eyes. I’ve got a little surprise of my own for you.” He squeezed his wrist. “Do. Not. Move.” 

Crowley could not slither a millimetre if he tried, rooted to the chair as though he’d explode in a million bits if he fell off. He didn’t even register when Aziraphale collected the secret and lay it down on the table. 

Aziraphale had finally put the puzzle together regarding the raunchy memories.. Those were indeed not his memories, but a certain charming Madame who’d kindly hosted his spirit at the end of the world. Apparently, they’d shared more than either had bargained for. It explained his ravenous taste for his book choices of late. He’d read his fair share of tales involving sordid affairs but he’d noticed he’d felt different reading them since he saw Crowley show up in his flaming Bentley at Tadfield Airbase. Seeing his devil swagger toward him, here to help protect him and save the world had brought a stiffness to his wings. It wasn’t that he was inhabiting the vessel of an experienced Mistress of Pleasure that meant he suddenly desired Crowley; it was how she had recognised what his inner feelings meant better than he did. 

Aziraphale pulled the key from his pocket and began to twirl it between his fingers. He bit his lip, holding Crowley’s jaw firm. 

“You will tell me right now, Anthony J Crowley, if I ought to open this box. Again.” 

***

Crowley’s brain, still touring the colonies off a far of alien planet, failed to compute. He struggled not to simply melt into his serpentine form and lay down. His mouth fell open, a tiny gasp of air all he could summon. 

Aziraphale had never done this before, but he somehow knew to maintain his confidence and not assume Crowley’s reaction was a bad thing. 

He knew Crowley loved him, but he had never seen it polite to ask another about their private affairs. Asking a  **demon** about their history of fornication was fraught with danger. Now, after opening that box, he had some clues about his particular demon’s proclivities. 

They had gotten rather close through their many years together, and far closer after The Unpocalypse. They’d taken to sharing interests more intimately. Aziraphale’s love of little cakes you can eat whilst holding a book in the same hand and sipping your beverage-- and Crowley’s love of sleeping. They’d spent several nights wrapped up so tight together, wings enfolded around their forms. 

Sex was not something Aziraphale had ever been desperate to try. For a long time, even reading about it made his moral alarm bells go off. After all, Angel’s were supposed to be pure of body and mind. He’d become far more relaxed when he’d considered if it was stories about  _ humans _ , that was purely factual, like any beast great or small. 

Even upon excitedly reading rather raunchy scenes, he had no inclination to attempt such things. Even after hearing whispers on the wind about certain ethereal and occult beings involved in sordid affairs, he felt uncomfortable about the idea of doing it himself. 

He did however, thoroughly enjoy when Crowley’s hands were deep in the pins of his feathers. He’d always been in love with how Crowley presented his ‘human’ form, especially when he swayed his hips. Aziraphale had been quite shocked at what such activities ignited within him. He had thought about it privately since they shared oysters in Rome. 

It got even worse after Crowley had rescued him and his books during The Blitz. Before then, he couldn’t trust that the favours and simmering words from the demon weren’t all manipulation-- but Crowley had gained nothing from saving him or his books. It was then that cruel, terrible hope had crawled inside him that maybe, possibly, by some miracle, a demon could love an angel. 

No other being made his wings quiver and his heart race and his desire burn like solar flares. 

He never understood all the lewd things men at The Hundred Guineas Club had whispered about him, unaware of his supernatural hearing. He’d never understood why it mattered to them that all he wanted to do was dance? 

Until he’d opened Crowley’s secret box. 

The serpent was frozen, like a basilisk who’d caught their own stare a mirror. Inside Crowley was a hurricane. Crowley had traversed the realm of forbidden acts. He’d given it a good hard go. He’d found a thing or two he rather liked, but for the most part, it was more out of curiosity than attraction. He’d been militant about avoiding any possibility of passing on his lineage, and found the masquerade and rituals humans developed around the act of coitus to be more fascinating. He quite liked blowing people's minds with how much punishment he could take, laughing as they gave it all they had. 

That all strangely lost its appeal in 1967’. 

He’d kept his lust under wraps ever since his angel has brought him Holy Water and he’d offered to drive Aziraphale home. Truth be told, the fact that Aziraphale cared so deeply for him got him looking over the Angels soft pink lips, wondering if they tasted as sweet as he smelled. He couldn’t forget the look in Aziraphale’s eyes when he told him he moved too fast for him. He never quite let go of the twinkle of possibility that Aziraphale would want him back, but he was happy being anywhere and doing anything with his Angel. 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, as though his operating system had crashed. 

Aziraphale booped Crowley gently on the nose, the demon’s brain slamming back into existence. 

“Shall I put the box away then?” Aziraphale taunted, tracing the key along the velvet swirls. 

“Yes!” Crowley blurted. “I mean, no! Arg, yes, I want you to open it.” Crowley stumbled over his astonishment. 

“My good little devil.” Aziraphale hummed, a finger sliding over Crowley’s bottom lip, toying with his mouth. “But before we get to that. You are to tell me explicitly. Don’t you dare lie. Do you want...me?” Aziraphale’s husky tone did him wonders for hiding the shake in his voice. 

Crowley slid from the chair, down on his knees before Aziraphale, clutching at his hands. 

“More than all of the stars in the infinite universes of creation.” The words slid from him like a knife through butter. 

Aziraphale slipped for a second, the sweetness of Crowley’s act making him scream with joy inside. He kept his composure, somehow. 

“Very good. Now, what would your safe-word be, my wily one?” He said nonchalantly, as though it had been a sentence that had rolled off his tongue a hundred times. 

He and Marjorie Potts hadn’t discussed anything aside the threat they faced in their short time together. Through intimate co-existence of two souls in one body, they’d learned each other’s secrets purely by proximity. Her soul was gentle and pure, a truly kind person, and in that place they recognised kindred spirits, who only wanted to reduce suffering in the lives of others. What her varied services to clients had in common, is that she used the control vulnerable people gave over to receive much needed connection from her. 

He would take her lessons and use them wisely. 

Aziraphale traced his fingers over Crowley’s throat as if to coax his voice out. 

Crowley did his best not to shrink inside himself from giddiness. He knew quite well what his ‘words’ were, the language of limits and lines of consent. Crowley had just never considered the velvet box would come into the equation between he and his perfect pure naive angel. He flushed at the thought that seared over his mind; that he’d let Aziraphale do  _ anything _ to him. That his safe word would never even cross his lips under Aziraphale’s touch. 

As he gazed up at his pearlescent cherub, electricity sparking as lust poured from their gaze. The demon caught a glimpse of the Holy Soldier within his demure beloved. Aziraphale was luminous, a golden sun burning with cosmic energy, his Heavenly presence saturating Crowley in delicious warmth and ecstasy. 

“Holy Water.” Crowley’s lips curled into a smirk, thrilled to submit his key of control to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale chuckled darkly, digging his trim nails over Crowley’s flesh. 

“Perhaps we shall say adieu to Chopin for this evening.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, the record miraculously changed. 

They were both transported to a night they’d shared listening to Alexander Scriabin performing. Aziraphale had been so overcome with emotion, clinging to Crowley’s hand through the rise and fall of the performance.  _ Piano Sonata No. 2, Sonata-Fantasy _ filled the air, Crowley’s tongue flicked out in delight. He was truly being spoiled. 

Aziraphale traced his fingers up Crowley’s face and threaded them into his hair, gripping firmly. He loved it when Crowley let his locks grow out, biting his lip as he gripped the waves tighter. 

“Stay.” He commanded, knowing full well Crowley had no plans of escape. Aziraphale let go, then slid the key into the velvet box once more, heart racing. He pulled it open and watched Crowley’s face, amused greatly by watching his formidable friend fall apart. 

Aziraphale ran his hands over the velvet, over the cool smooth shapes within, familiarising himself. The Madam’s memories were exceedingly useful. He pulled the collar from its place. His eyes locked with Crowley’s once more. He struggled to keep character as Crowley’s face had softened to that of a pup eager for treats. He wrapped the collar around Crowley’s neck, made sure it was firm and buckled it in place. He tugged on the charm. He gripped the thickness of the leather against Crowley’s throat and squeezed. Crowley let out a weak moan and Aziraphale felt his wings tense. 

“Who’s my clever, beautiful, kind Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, eyes lidded, drinking in the luscious view at his feet. 

Crowley’s hairs went up on the back of his neck, twitching in place, a fire sparking in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how much Aziraphale wanted him to play along, still miles behind the fact that this was actually a real thing that was really real and happening. 

“Not me; I go too fast for you.” He hissed through his grin, fangs bared. 

Aziraphale did not smile. He clenched the front of the collar, rough enough but not to hurt his dear one, Crowley gasping for air. Aziraphale knelt to bring his face close to Crowley’s, lifting him until their noses met. 

“Darling. We have been dancing through eternity together, daring nothing more than ‘accidentally’ brushing fingers. I think it’s time we stop lollygagging.” 

Crowley was glad for the choke on his throat, able to pass off his laugh as struggling. Aziraphale was succeeding in asserting his dominance, but he was still his soft silly angel. He wanted that part of his crush-of-six-thousand-years. He wanted all of him. 

Crowley begged silently, eyes dropping to stare longingly at those rose-petal lips. 

Aziraphale had to fight closing the distance, hungry for the truth of how it would feel to finally kiss Crowley. He took a deep breath in, getting drunk on the scent of his demon, flickers of firewood and stardust and ancient elements with names only in Enochian. He pushed himself back up. They’d waited this long; he was going to make Crowley wait until the demon was begging Aziraphale to kiss him. 

He also knew Crowley better than anyone. Aziraphale realised through Marjorie's eyes that Crowley had wanted him for centuries. In all that time he’d never once pushed the envelope on his own desires. For all his coaxing, drop-by-drop wearing down of Aziraphale's consideration to do things his way, Crowley had never used the unusual bond of trust they forged for self pleasure. He knew that Crowley hadn’t let go of their relationship despite this. Crowley respected him, for he knew Aziraphale too, respecting his attitude towards the erotic. Despite being a snarky, wicked, sultry, lust-filled demon, he didn’t even make dirty remarks around Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale wanted to show Crowley he didn’t have to hide his desires in the shadows ever again. He had to make it strikingly clear. To leave a mark. 

Aziraphale understood that part of strange human rituals were to relieve stress. His poor serpent had been out of his mind with it, so it was time to ease his pain. He reached to the box and felt the texture of the leather paddle, an embroidered serpent on the handle. The red stitch matched the blush heavy on his face. Perhaps this would be the right tool for the job. He lifted it from the box, judging Crowley’s reaction carefully. 

Crowley huffed. _ No kiss? Bastard!  _ If that’s how Aziraphale was going to play it, maybe he’d stop being so co-operative. How long could Aziraphale _ really _ hold out? He bared his fangs again, tugging away from Aziraphale brattishly. 

“As if I’d let an Altar Boy boss me around.” Crowley teased, the flick of his hair forming perfect horns. 

Aziraphale had a card up his sleeve Crowley had no idea about. He gripped the collar, fingers sliding around it so he really had a hold on Crowley. He leaned on the spirit of the Madam and gave Crowley a perfectly weighted slap. 

Aziraphale shocked himself, scared he didn’t understand this all as well as he thought. Crowley’s mewling whine, swaying hips and drunken gaze set his mind at ease. 

“That’s not how nice ones talk to angels.” Aziraphale said sweetly, voice like honey, “You can snip and simper all you like, serpent, but you and I both know there’s only one thing that will stop me.” 

Crowley was  _ aching _ . He’d experimented with the parameters of his earthly vessel, trying out all kinds of configurations until he’d settled on what worked for him. Demons rebelled from the cookie-cutter confines of Heaven’s bureaucratic laws around dangly bits in all manner of ways. Hell held grand festivals of depravity and delighted transforming themselves into intricate forms for the fun of it, judging the wildest as the winner. His loins flushed with warmth, his body built to light up all his pleasure centres. 

Aziraphale reached into the treasure trove and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He lifted the paddle to Crowley’s mouth and pushed against his lips. “Be a dear and hold that, would you?” 

Crowley bared his teeth and gently took the paddle, watching Aziraphale reach down to take his wrists. The angel slipped the rings around one at a time, eating up the sight of Crowley, so perfectly obedient. He made sure they clicked, then for good measure spoke a blessing to strengthen them against occult energy. Crowley’s brows raised, turned on by Aziraphale’s genuine effort to strip his power away. He was in Aziraphale’s possession now. 

Aziraphale plucked out a black strip of silk next. He stepped closer to Crowley, trailing the softness over his collarbone and around his neck. He traced his fingers up Crowley’s cheeks as he pulled the silk over his eyes to blindfold him. He leaned down, his warm breath whispering. 

“My delicious pettifor. Who’s being so well behaved?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but nip lightly at the tip of Crowley’s ear. 

Crowley whimpered around the paddle. 

The piano of the music turned away from the floating notes into dark rising tones. Aziraphale plucked the paddle from his mouth and grasped the back of Crowley’s collar. He tugged at it to urge him up, Crowley abiding eagerly. 

“Come along.” Aziraphale’s voice simmered somewhere in front of him, Crowley’s world reduced only to what he could hear and feel and taste. Aziraphale led him to the lounge, closer to the warmth, the music swelling around him. He felt Aziraphale’s hands on his body, feeling over him, exploring him. He felt each layer be miracled from his body one by one until he was only left with underwear and socks. Crowley’s skin prickled with anticipation. He felt his hands grasped and led to hold on to the top of the lounge. He felt the smooth soft surface of the paddle slide over his thigh, Aziraphale toying with his underwear. 

“I don’t hear enough pleading. It’s almost like you don’t want it.” Aziraphale teased, tracing the paddle over Crowley’s straining need. 

Crowley was losing his mind. He couldn’t help the noises he was making.

“Damn you, angel.” He teased back through grit teeth, riled up by how crazy Aziraphale was making him. 

Aziraphale gasped, feigning offence. “So foul! Perhaps I should just leave you tied to the lounge whilst I read my book.” 

Crowley bent over immediately and gripped the lounge, backside presented for Aziraphale. The angel felt his whole body heat up, Aziraphale’s cheeks matching Crowley’s scarlet face.

“Yes, much better, precious.” He said as he tugged at Crowley’s undergarments, sliding them down his thighs until they hung at his ankles. Aziraphale placed one hand on Crowley’s back and rubbed the paddle against his bare backside. Crowley’s chest pounded with excitement as the paddle pulled away. It came down on his cheek so softly. Again and again. Crowley smirked at the timid nature of Aziraphale’s ‘punishment’. 

“Such a sweet demon.” Aziraphale cooed. His gentle words and light spanking still got Crowley letting out soft moans, having the time of his life playing this way with his favourite person in the universe. 

“You’re the sweet one.” Crowley mooned. His body was loosening up after months of constant fear for the well-being of his angel’s safety. Loving his friend had been hard, but ever since they’d nearly lost each other, Crowley’s heart couldn’t bare the weight so easily. He melted into the hilariously soft paps, content and relaxed. 

“Is that so?” Aziraphale growled. The next spank landed, stinging Crowley’s flesh. He hissed, hips jerking, pleasure sparking throughout his soul. In quick succession, matching the urgency of the sonata, Aziraphale’s hits came down harder. 

Crowley groaned, used to far harder but surprised at Aziraphale’s ambition. He panted as Aziraphale took a moment to rub his warm hand over Crowley’s pink skin. He massaged the heated marks, licking his lips at how rosy he’d got Crowley. He gripped Crowley’s face, turning him to face Aziraphale. He was pleased to see Crowley panting, mouth curled in a dizzy smile. Everything seemed alright with Crowley so far. Aziraphale never ever wanted to hurt him - not in a way he didn’t enjoy. 

Aziraphale climbed onto the lounge and drew Crowley over his lap. Crowley moaned as his sensitive parts rubbed against his angel's lap. Now that Crowley didn’t have to hold himself up, Aziraphale gave him one solid spank with his hand to signal for Crowley to prepare himself. 

The floral music drifted faster, climbing and crashing. With it, Aziraphale brought down the paddle square on his arse, harder and harder. He felt wicked for how much fun he was having causing Crowley to make such decadent noises. Crowley bleated, clinging to the lounge as Aziraphale marked him. 

“Aziraphale! Oh  _ fuck _ !” Crowley cried. 

“Language!” Aziraphale chuckled. He delivered his next words along side four strong spanks. “My naughty lemon tart.” 

The strikes were like thunder within him, a storm racing in from the sea, waves crashing through Crowley. Aziraphale being the one taking command of him was ecstasy. 

Aziraphale lay the paddle to one side. He slid his hand over Crowley’s legs and over his throbbing backside. He blushed furiously as he moved his hand between his demons thighs, exploring his wet excitement. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s collar and held him firmly in place as he started to rub at Crowley, delighted by the high whines his act elicited. 

“Angel, oh fuck, fuck!” He whined, the rush filling his whole being, Crowley slipping into a drunken state of pleasure, writhing in Aziraphale’s lap. 

He’d played these games before, but he’d never felt like this with a stranger. He’d taken far more of a beating, but never felt so whole. The roughest of playmates had drawn blood and barely got a whine from him. Here he was at the mercy of an angel with the power to destroy him, losing his mind at how gently Aziraphale was pulling him apart. He was safer here than anywhere else in existence. 

“Angel - please!” He begged. 

“Mm, you know there’s only one way I’ll stop, you wicked devil.” Aziraphale spoke as though he were talking to a kitten, all the while massaging Crowley’s thighs. 

“Need you, please Aziraphale. Need your kiss.” Crowley’s voice broke as his oldest wish finally left his lips. 

Aziraphale felt his heart swell. Crowley was so darling right now, like a sundae melting in summer. He couldn’t bare to deny Crowley his earnest request. He carefully turned Crowley over in his lap, cradling him. He stroked his back and rocked him. He smelled something like gasoline and fretted when he noticed tears soaking the silk over Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale untied the blindfold and pet his shakey one’s face, planting kisses on his cheeks. 

“You were so brave, Crowley dear.” He praised, petting his hair. Aziraphale waited until Crowley was able to meet his gaze. Complete adoration looked back at him. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley whispered, his heart feeling like it would burst. “I love you. I love you...I-” 

Their mouths clashed. It was not the gentle peck that Aziraphale had day-dreamed about now and then. They were locked in a battle, gasping for air they didn’t need between kisses. Aziraphale felt as though the waters of Heaven were filling his soul, swelling beyond the confines of his body, soaring beyond the atmosphere. Crowley couldn’t help the tears of bliss that sprang free, feeling a peace he’d lost centuries ago. 

They finally parted, still coming back for more, Crowley quivering in Aziraphale’s hold. 

“P-please, angel.” He begged. “Tell me…”

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s face in his hands, a deep sincerity in his softened face. 

“I love you, Crowley. I’ve loved you since we met in the garden. I will always love you. Beyond the end of the earth, after the stars have burned away and we are all that is left. Whatever becomes of our souls in the ineffable future, I will love you beyond existing.“ Aziraphale gushed, the truth flowing from freely. 

Crowley clutched Aziraphale hard, everything coming loose from the sweet relief his angel had brought him this evening. He surrendered in Aziraphale’s admission of love, shaking off an agony he’d clung to since he fell from grace. 

The music lulled, floating gently as the pair held each other. Neither said another word for some time, Aziraphale gently rubbing Crowley’s back. After a time, his fingers drifted into Crowley’s wings, stroking them in all the places his own were hard to reach. 

Soon he had Crowley whimpering and bucking in his lap once more. They kissed, hungry for more of their lovers’ taste. Aziraphale reached released the blessing on the cuffs and his collar, healing any of Crowley’s aches. 

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, grazing his hand over Crowley’s loins. 

Crowley bit his lip, taking Aziraphale’s hand and slid it between his thighs. He gasped at the way it sparked him, Aziraphale simply resting his hand against Crowley as his demon rubbed against his fingers. Aziraphale’s limited interest nether regions in general left him unsure of what to expect. He had pondered on if Crowley’s body was different from his own, as the Angel had left his parts as they were. 

He knew one thing for certain; Crowley sighing in pleasure as he stroked the warm folds and stiffness twix his demon’s thighs was his new favourite sonata. 

Crowley clung to Aziraphale’s shoulders, knees sliding either side of the angel’s for better purchase. Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s desire and held him tight as Crowley rubbed against his hand. 

“I’ve got you, Crowley.” Aziraphale soothed. He parted his fingers so that Crowley’s pleasure was increased. As Crowley’s moans sped up, Aziraphale panted, sweltering under his shirt. How _ beautiful  _ his beloved was. He ran his other hand up Crowley’s tensing belly, tracing over his chest, enjoying the view more than the window of a patisserie. He rubbed his hands over Crowley’s lips. 

Aziraphale reached his hand around Crowley’s lithe body and gripped his wing. He rubbed at the feathers there, heightening the sensitivity of Crowley’s whole body. 

“Angel. Oh angel, angel, ang-” Crowley’s voice rose and rose. His pale skin was tinged red all over, his legs shook. He grabbed Aziraphale close as he saw stars and eruptions of fulfilment wracked through him. 

“Oh God!” Crowley cursed, eyes rolling back as he let go under Aziraphale’s spell. His hips jerked, slick from pleasure on Aziraphale’s hand, enjoying every last morsel of the experience. 

Crowley’s body collapsed into Aziraphale’s arms, heaving deep breaths. Aziraphale positioned them to lay down, holding his trembling one close. He kissed his wet hair and forehead, tracing his fingers lightly. 

He summoned a warm cloth and placed it over his tender used parts, knowing a miracle Crowley clean instantly would be too sudden. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and collected a warm coco from the table, sharing it with Crowley. Aziraphale grabbed a soft blanket from the arm of the lounge and wrapped Crowley up. They stayed in the warm glow for several songs until the record trailed off, Aziraphale rocking Crowley and reassuring him with loving touches.

“I love you, Crowley. I wanted you to know...that I think I’ve caught up to you now.” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley glanced up to Aziraphale, yellow thin slits like a crescent moon due to his fuzzy mind. 

“Mmwhaddya mean?” He mumbled. 

“I mean, I want you just as you are. That you go just fast enough for me, Crowley.” He beamed, eyes twinkling. 

Crowley’s eyes widened. He grabbed Aziraphale and kissed him, over and over and over again.

“Sap.” Crowley teased between kisses. 

“Oh, you wouldn’t have me any other way.” Aziraphale smiled from ear to ear. 

“I wouldn’t.” Crowley cuddled in close, starting to drift towards the world of dreams. 

“My sneaky, wicked, box-snooping mastermind.” Crowley hissed through a grin. 

“My sweet, scrumptious, red-bottomed cherub.” Aziraphale gave back, nipping at Crowley’s ear. He glanced at the paddle, giving Crowley’s soft bottom a squeeze. 

“And Crowley dear?” He whispered. 

“Hm?” 

“Don’t think for a second we won’t be using every toy in Pandora’s box. 

Crowley curled even closer to Aziraphale, making a happy little noise of contentment. 

It was here, in the safe warmth of one another they lay for many nights to come, becoming as closer than they’d ever dreamed they could. Their romance flourished exponentially, for longer than the earth’s lifespan, well beyond the fading of stars, forever into eternity, an angel and a demon dancing on the head of a pin. 

Somewhere, Marjorie Potts sighed at the memory of the angel who loved a demon, hoping dearly that they got there in the end. 

-Fin- 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friends for encouraging me to write for first time in too long. Hope you all enjoy it, please comment and share :) 
> 
> P.S Please comment what part you'd like to seen drawn, someone's promised me art for this fic!


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